Living in Our Hearts
by Silvertongued Dreams
Summary: After the battle at the Fountain, Groves & Gillette are left for dead. What would have happened if their wounds did not kill them, or, rather, something intervened, changing their fates? (Initially published 1/19/12.) Rated T for violence. Surprise at the end. One-shot. COMPLETE.


**RE-UPLOADED. Author's note and story initially published 1/19/12.**

**AN./ **At last, I have decided to write a fanfic in honour of two of the greatest and most underrated Navy men of all time—Lieutenant Phillip Gillette and Lieutenant Theodore Groves. When they died in _On Stranger Tides,_ I was in the theater, watching, on the big screen—I was so devastated and my dad even asked if I was OK…. (restrains sobs). So yeah, you can imagine how much worse I was during AWE with James… I am still mourning him actually. Anywho…

But what if the wounds the Navy men received _weren't_ fatal, but merely appeared to be so? Well… let's see what I think would have happened. ENJOY!

I confess to crying while writing this…. (wipes away tears)

**~ Silvertongued Dreams**

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><p>'<em><span><strong>Living In Our Hearts<strong>__**'**_

With Blackbeard defeated, and the battle of the Fountain concluded, nothing but the gentle, rhythmic tinkling of water drops could be heard echoing through the cavern.

Dead bodies lay strewn, everywhere. Tears would have come to one's eyes if one were to count them, and imagine the countless loved ones that would remain waiting by the seaside, but in vain—never to see them again.

Then, out of nowhere, there came a soft groan, and Lieutenant Theodore Groves rolled over onto his side: tightly grasping his stomach. Immediately, his hand was stained crimson with his blood.

Moving carefully, Groves crawled down the hill, searching for his best friend, Gillette. "Phillip!" he croaked, looking around desperately: he still clutched onto his wound. "_Phillip!"_

When Theodore did not hear a response from his best friend, his heart nearly stopped, and a chill ran up his spine. Surely, he had not been abandoned. Surely, despite _all_ odds, his friend had made it out alive?

Crawling down the hill of dirt and grass, Groves used his left arm to do the work both his upper limbs would normally do, and, within a half-hour, he had reached the bottom of the mound. It took all the strength he had _just_ to get up.

Phillip couldn't be dead. He just _couldn't!_ He couldn't leave him alone, left to fester and rot in this profane temple to a profane god. He needed Gillette—they had been like brothers for as long as he could remember: Norrington, Gillette, and himself, had been inseparable… until their brotherly bond had been severed, and they seemed to be cut off from each other, one by one….

Groves panted as he walked, desperately trying to steady himself. He leaned against one of the pillars of the arch looming over the broken spring—the source of the fountain—before staggering on to the now visible body of Phillip Gillette.

"God… God… oh, dear God, _no!"_ he cried, trying to fight back the tears he felt at the back of his eyes. Gillette lay face down in the rock and grime, an ax scarcely embedded in his back.

Grunting back a wince, Groves cautiously removed the wretched weapon, and gently overturned his friend, whose face was pale and bloodstained. Groves sniffed back a sob as he ran a hand over Phillip's face. "Oh, my friend…."

Just then, the softest of moans escaped Gillette's lips, and he started to cough. "Theodore?" he mumbled.

Groves was so relieved that he could not contain himself, and tears of joy coursed down his cheeks. "Phillip!" he cried, to which Gillette's characteristic sarcastic smile plastered across his face. "You're alive!"

"I am relieved to see that you are as well, my friend," Gillette said, motioning to the gaping wound in Theodore's stomach.

Groves gripped Gillette's hand tightly as he looked down into his face. "With wounds this mortal, we shall probably not last the hour." Theodore tried his hardest not to look scared—but he was _petrified_. And, even though his vision was dimming, Phillip could see past the mask Groves had put on for his benefit.

"It is all right—it is all right, Theodore; you aren't alone," he said with a forced grin: a tear of his own trailing down his pale cheek. There was a moment's silence. "Do—do you think that our brotherly bond is strong enough to take us away together?"

"I think that our brotherhood is strong enough to do whatever it wants," Groves returned with a forced smile. He gazed heavenward. "And, at least, we will know that James will be waiting."

Almost upon his words, a small ray of sunlight creeped in through the crack in the ceiling of the cavern… as if Norrington really was there.

Then, it hit Gillette like a bolt of lightning. The Fountain!

Unconsciously, Phillip gripped Theodore's arm tight.

"Phillip?"

Without saying anything, Gillette crawled over to a small puddle of water only an arm's-length away.

"Phillip! What are you doing?" Theodore asked, his gaze shifting back and forth from Gillette's face to the pool.

"Do you reckon that this water—though now unable to grant us eternal life, might still retain some of its power?" he ask, a look of desperate hope in his eyes.

Groves opened his mouth to speak, but instead, he said nothing: stammering as no intelligible words came.

Gillette smiled warmly. "Here. Cup your hand and dip it into the pool. Bring it up to your wound… and see what happens."

There was such a dazzle of hope in his eyes that Groves couldn't bring himself to say no. Slowly, he followed Gillette's instructions, as Phillip peeled away the first few layers of Theodore's uniform to expose the damaged flesh.

Almost immediately upon contact, the water took on a life of its own, and ran up his body with refreshing coolness—rivulets that branched off with a will as they quickly engulfed his wound: instantly sponging away the dried blood and sealing the injury while shooting an energy into his body that he had never before felt. Groves inhaled deeply, and Gillette watched on, his jaw agape as the water expanded and surrounded his friend in a cyclone that spun around him from the sole of his shoe to the top of his illustrious hat.

"Oh… my… God…" Gillette panted, out of breath, as the water finally dissipated and traveled back to the ground: leaving Groves completely restored… and dry.

"Theodore! I swear, you look a full five years younger!" Phillip exclaimed, his eyes running up and down his friend's body in unbelief. Then, turning, he thrust his hand into the pool, and breathed uneasily. Would the water restore him, as well?

The water seemed to know Gillette's desires, and carefully trickled up his slender fingers, and over his back: seeping through his uniform overcoat and deep down into the ax-wound he had received scarcely hours before.

Gillette groaned in pain as the water practically sewed up his skin, and softened his wounds like a sweet-smelling elixir: removing all traces of a scar. A soft wave of water, washed over him, and after a few moments, Phillip found himself able to stand. He, also, was completely dry.

"I'm healed!" he breathed in relief, scoffing as he looked down at himself. As the realization further dawned upon him, he could not suppress his tears. "I. Am. Healed!"

"And it is a gift, my friend—an _outstanding gift_—a gift we would be fools to ever forget," Groves commented gravely, locking intense gazes with Phillip. It only took a moment to read what was on each other's mind—they had both desired it for so long. Now—if ever—this was the chance to right the wrong that had been done to Port Royal all those years ago.

Determinedly, Gillette stooped to the ground, withdrawing a canteen that had been concealed in the inside pocket of his uniform, and unscrewing the lid.

Groves hid a small smile as Gillette pulled back the canteen from the stream, and, tucking it back into his overcoat, the two of them marched out of the cavern triumphantly: taking off in one of the longboats that had been left behind.

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><p><strong>SIX MONTHS LATER<strong>

They knew not how, but they found themselves, at last, aboard the _Flying Dutchman_—after much searching, and much hard work, they had arrived.

Gillette trembled as the echo of thudding footsteps rang in his ears. Groves leaned forward, looking intently in the direction of the noise… and it was then that he saw….

"_Mr. Turner?"_ Gillette asked in unbelief.

"That would be 'Captain' Turner now, but yes, it is I," Will returned.

Groves stood up straight: his military graces taking precedent even before his urgent request. "Captain," he said, dipping a bow. "We have a great favour to ask."

Upon this remark, Will's expression changed to an almost saddened one. "I know what it is you wish."

Groves's eyes lit up for a moment, and Gillette shot up to his feet.

Without another word, Will reached for a lantern that hung just before the staircase that led below deck. "Follow me," he prompted: his voice scarcely a whisper.

To the young, eager Navy officers, the trek below deck seemed to take forever. Gillette looked around him in disgust: examining the unkempt walls that were barnacled beyond recognition. He shuddered.

Then, he realized that Captain Turner had stopped.

"Why are we stopping?" Gillette asked. Then, his gaze rested upon the wall before them. "Oh, my goodness."

Groves stared on in unbelief as Will heaved a great sigh. "I did not have the heart to bring him to the Locker. Although he was not my greatest friend, he most certainly was not an enemy." Will swallowed hard: resting his hand on the man who had become such an intricate part of the wall. "He is a part of my past: a piece that I, shockingly, am glad I have held onto."

Groves did not want to interrupt Will, but, when he found an appropriate pause, he cleared his throat. "Captain…."

"—But I digress," Will admitted. "I'll, erm… leave you to it."

With those words, he started to walk away, but not before mumbling: "_Part of the crew, part of the ship_—_part of the crew, part of the ship—!"_

Gillette sighed, looking at Groves before removing the canteen of water from the Fountain from his pocket.

Groves closed his eyes in a silent prayer as Gillette poured the water over the barnacle-encrusted body… and was broken from his muse by a large crackling noise as the body tore itself from the wall, becoming recognizably human as its eyes slowly opened to reveal a heavenly set of jade green eyes. The lips, stiffened after almost a year without use, finally managed to speak, and in the most familiar and dulcet tones the lieutenants had ever head:

"Groves? Gillette?!"

… The voice was that of James Norrington.

— _The End _—

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><p><strong>Well, I hope that you all enjoyed that! I certainly loved writing it! This is how I think <strong>_**On Stranger Tides**_** should have ended. I would have cried if this had been the real ending!**

**Anyway, please **R&R**! No flamers, please, but be honest and kind about what you thought about this piece!**


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